Dating Sherlock was like dating a child. Being in a relationship was, of course, new to Sherlock. He had, of course, warned John of his lack of experience and John had, of course, told him not to worry, that he'd learn soon enough. Sherlock was not very fond of touch. He liked touching, yes, but when John wanted to return the favor, Sherlock would often back away on reflex. He was also not a very romantic person. He didn't understand the concept of going out to fancy restaurants for non business-related purposes.

"It's romantic," John had said.

"It's excessive and unnecessary," was Sherlock's response.

"Well then where do you suggest we go for dates?"

"Why do we have to go on dates anyways?"

"Because that's what normal couples do!"

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

"Oh," Sherlock said disappointedly. "How dull."

Sherlock still insisted on accompanying John to rehearsal, if only to defeat boredom.

On a day where he was feeling particularly touchy, Sherlock walked beside John with his fingers inconspicuously grazing by John's every so often.

John, however, was not an idiot, and could see through Sherlock's intentions quite clearly. He broke out into a smirk, silently laughing to himself at the fact that a grown man like Sherlock could still act like a shy high school girl trying to get her little crush to notice her.

In order to spare Sherlock the frustration, John took the initiative to slip his hand into Sherlock's, interlacing their fingers together.

Sherlock looked at him in surprise, and John only smiled back at him. "You can hold my hand, you know," he teased him. "It's not like you're trying to inconspicuously slip me drugs."

Sherlock's response was to turn his head away from John in embarrassment, which only made John chuckle to himself.

Having Sherlock at rehearsal certainly was having an effect on the orchestra. With his cold stare and harsh observations, Lestrade found his musicians to be the best behaved and the most practiced they've ever been. Perhaps it was because everyone was afraid of being insulted by the prodigy that they worked extra hard and made fewer mistakes than ever before.

While Sherlock enjoyed his 'vacation' with John, however, the rest of the world was impatiently waiting for his next appearance. Sherlock's phone would often ring with texts from Mycroft's employees and, more recently, from Mycroft himself as he had become quite as impatient as the rest of the universe.

The Boston Symphony Orchestra wants you. You like America, don't you? Get back to me if you're interested

-MH

"Who was that text from?" John asked, getting rather suspicious of all the recent texts Sherlock had been getting and ignoring.

"Nobody important," Sherlock shrugged without even glancing at his phone.

"Oh okay." And John knew he should probably look into it, but perhaps he was a bit selfish and feared for the day Sherlock must travel again.

Or how about Spain? They love you in Spain.

-MH

If you prefer to stay in England, you've been invited to play at a Cambridge U reception.

-MH

You could play for the Prime Minister's birthday.

-MH

Sherlock, for god's sake pick or I'll pick for you.

-MH

Boring. Boring, boring, dull and boring.

The International Violin Competition is coming up if you'd rather prepare for that. Surprise, it's in London this year.

-MH

Oh, finally something of interest.

"John, I'm competing in the international violin competition."

John looked up from his book. "Haven't you won that like, two years in a row? Why not give someone else a chance?"

"Because if that someone else is Jim Moriarty, I won't have it."

Ah, yes. Jim Moriarty, a Scottish violinist said to rival even Sherlock's talent. He had only been gaining popularity in recent years, but his fame spread quick and he was known for having a notorious personality, being able to manipulate by any means to get whichever recital he wanted. John shuddered at the thought of such a cheating man becoming reigning world champion. "Well then you better start practicing," he nodded.

And Sherlock did.

Of course, one of the prerequisites for entering the competition was the need for a piano accompanist. While the audience was impressed by Sherlock's talent, many pianists feared him, for he was famous for making accompanists cry and run out of the room within an hour of meeting him, and thus avoided him at all costs. It was difficult finding an accompanist to willingly play for Sherlock that was of the high quality that Sherlock expected all his accompanists to have. If John could play piano, Sherlock could have settled, but alas John had no experience with the instrument.

One day after a scheduled afternoon rehearsal, John excused himself. "Just need to pop off to the loo for a bit."

With the room emptied and vacant, Sherlock leaned against the wall next to the backstage doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, patiently waiting.

Just a few short moments later, a familiar female secretary cautiously walked onto the stage like a mouse, taking each step as carefully as possible. When Molly Hooper hadn't noticed Sherlock, he straightened his back and watched her curiously. It was obvious she believed everyone had left.

Molly, her hair combed back into a neat ponytail, carefully stepped across the stage as if she wasn't allowed to be there. Her destination, as Sherlock suspected, was the piano. She approached the fine instrument in the center of the stage as if it were dangerous and, with her back turned to Sherlock, reached her hand out and ran it across the surface of the object of her desire.

As Sherlock could have predicted, her next move was to sit at the piano and uncover the keys. She marveled at them for a moment before hesitantly touching one. It hardly made a sound, but she jumped a little anyways.

Then she positioned her hands above the keys, and played.

Beethoven's Pathetique, second movement. A slow and soft andante that made for a sweet melody, but only if played in the right hands, and indeed these hands were right.

Sherlock looked on with concentrated eyes as she played. It from there on he decided that she, yes she, the lowly secretary who once found him asleep in the basement, would become his accompanist.

When John showed up a minute later, the gaze Sherlock gave him made him halt in his tracks. The music of Molly's ingenious playing filled his ears and he understood Sherlock's intentions completely without a single word exchanged.

And thus the two of them listened on. John closed his eyes to hear better, his mind at peace and his heart relaxed, while Sherlock looked on with wide eyes, heart racing in anticipation. This was the passion in their bodies, expressed in contradictory ways.

When the piece was over, Molly lingered over the piano for just a moment more. And then, the sound of clapping startled her. She snapped her head around and found two men standing there, one taller the source of the clapping and the shorter other simply smiling.

Sherlock did not ceasing his clapping as he walked towards her until he was an appropriate distance away. In reaction, Molly swiftly stood, as if she had just been caught in the middle of a crime. Her face twisted into a mix between surprise and absolute horror.

She remained frozen as Sherlock took one of her hands into his.

"The sound that emanates from the tips of your fingers is a sound few can achieve," Sherlock says breathlessly, gently caressing Molly's hand, his eyes staring at the calluses that covered her fingertips wide and in awe. Molly, of course, was left speechless. Her mind was in shock upon being caught playing by the genius of the entire music world and even being complimented by such a phenomenal violinist.

"Be my accompanist," Sherlock stated simply, never being one to dance around a topic.

Molly began to stutter. "I…I can't…I mean, I don't…I don't play in public."

"What you mean is that you haven't played in public," Sherlock corrected her. Then his expression turned serious. "Play with me, Molly Hooper, and your name will be known across the globe. People will shower you with love and your face will be synonymous to glory. Would you like that?"

And Molly, perhaps still in disbelief, could only nod quickly in response.

Behind the both of them, John's smile turned into a great big grin.